Archive for April, 2008

She's even more excited than she looks!

Baby’s first political manifesto.  Thanks, Dr. No!

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As promised, pictures

What does one wear to assist at a Mass celebrated by the Pope?

Check out those shoes!

Something super-cute, of course.  With special care to choose appropriate shoes.


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To make it cool to be German again.

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Cal will be holding down the fort while Angus, Prudence, Petey the Penguin and I are at Yankee Stadium.   Knowing the Pope’s fondness for orange tabbies, it’s appropriate that he will be the one in the neighborhood when the Pope stops by later this morning. 

Pictures to follow.   

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<Professional opinion tempered with Charity>

The general consensus is that the music for the Papal Mass in D.C. was pretty awful. I will say only two things:

1) Everyone seemed to understood that the penultimate measure in the “gathering hymn” (Lasst uns erfreuen) had three beats (6, if you subdivide) just like the rest of the hymn.  Good for them.

2) It wasn’t so bad that Pru couldn’t sleep through it.

Good for Pru

</Professional opinion tempered with Charity>

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Dwyeropolis digest: 

We picked up our tickets to the Papal Mass in Yankee Stadium and have been busy trying to discourage Pru from putting them in her mouth. 

We made a very tasty classic Texan dinner:  chicken fried steak and Dr Pepper.

We did the laundry (and temporarily lost Cal in the process).

We cleaned the oven; it passed Cal’s inspection.

We saw the kneelerthat will be used when the Holy Father (Be-ne-dict X-V-I/Be-ne-dict, he’s our guy!) visits our neighborhood.

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I’ve been reading (in starts and stops, but mostly the latter) this book.  It’s pretty great and does a very good job of not getting too bogged down in either the Jefferson or the wine.  It also pretty much reinforces an opinion of mine that was previously based on gut reaction and a completely superficial reading of Jefferson’s Greatest Hits:  Thomas Jefferson was a huge jerk.  No, I’m not talking about his slavery contradictions (a criticism which, frankly, is totally played out for me).  It’s the stupid, piddly, day-to-day antics.  He spends a great deal of time and thought coming up with elaborate ruses to avoid paying taxes on his imported wines, for example.   He requests that casks he ships back home be labeled as vin ordinare instead of the actual, more expensive contents.  Sure it couldbe because he wants to avoid theft in transit but the much more logical conclusion is that he just doesn’t feel the obligation to pay the taxes on the good stuff.  The Cult of Jefferson likes to explain these things away by painting him as some sort of absent-minded-professor-who-doesn’t-balance-his-checkbook-type.   I don’t buy that reading.

Anyway, Angus and I were discussing how it’s pretty silly that Thomas Jefferson is always a name that pops up on those ridiculous “historical figures you’d like to invite to a dinner party” lists* as he seems like he’d be a complete loser.  Add that to the fact that he’d probably be the Founding Father with the least amount of actual experience in the whole Revolution thing and you have one boring walking architecture treatise**.  He would be the worst blogger of his founding peers, in other words. (more…)

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Literally, she didn't know what to do


She had so many penguins, she didn’t know what to do!

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The Triplets of Bellville (2003): 1.5 stars.  Why is someone kidnapping France’s most mediocre cyclists?  The answer will interest you even less than the question!

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As a formerly proud son of the Singing College, I want to take this opportunity to renounce, denounce and otherwise announce my total and complete disapproval of this.

First off, this is not a sport. It bears as much resemblance to a real sport as LARPing does to real medieval warfare.*

Second off, I’m not an opponent of letting nerds do their thang. If you want to compose 10,000-line epic poems in Klingon, or dress up like an elf and beat people dressed like ogres with foam rubber-padded whiffle bats on the weekends, or decorate your room with Hello Kitty merchandise, or even (God help you) play a real life version of Quidditch in your spare time, well, it’s a free country. But you don’t go on national TV and advertise it. You do it quietly, recognizing that it’s a little bit embarrassing in the eyes of the broader society. You do it with a healthy sense of shame. Admixed, of course, with a nerdilicious sense of superiority over the helplessly backward society that can’t understand why Hello Kitty is the apotheosis of pop art, but shame nevertheless. And you certainly don’t go on TV and associate your college, which has thousands of alumni/ae just going about their lives, trying to muddle through, who have enough difficulties without being known as graduates of the school that is ground zero of the college Quidditch craze. Will you not be happy until the Cornell graduates at work are actually giving me swirlies in the men’s room?

*NOTE: When I originally harangued Sarah about this last night, the conversation went:
ANGUS: “It’s not a sport. It bears as much resemblance to a real sport…”
SARAH: “As the Amherst football team does to real football?”
That’s cold, man.

UPDATE:  Re-watching it just now with Sarah, I remembered one of the worst parts of this entire Quidditch fiasco:  I now know what it’s like to be condescended to by Harry Smith and the woman who hosts “Big Brother”.  I’d really hoped to make it to the grave without experiencing that.  I didn’t think it an unreasonable expectation.

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